


A Quirk of the Lips

by animehead



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 07:24:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animehead/pseuds/animehead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things just get better with age and people are no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quirk of the Lips

You glide your hand across it, feeling the faint line of soft skin against your fingertip. Every time you see him with his shirt off, you tell yourself that you’re going to count each of his scars and then you’re own, compare them, and then gloat victoriously after you discover that you have more than him. 

_So far that has yet to happen._

“How’d you get this one?” You ask, dragging your fingernail along a hook-shaped scar just at the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet. 

“Ah…” He reaches up and scratches his head, salt and pepper hair heavily contrasting with his tanned fingers. “I’m not too certain,” he says. “You’re sure it’s not one you’ve managed to give me?”

You shake your head. “Not mine. Too sloppy.”

“Well, who knows where I got that blasted devil. When you get to be my age, you brain doesn’t work like it used to, old chum.”

“Just as long as the important things work.”

“Honestly, Strider,” he says as he smoothes out the last of your bandage into place. “Can’t you keep your mind out of the gutter for ten seconds?”

“I was talking about your heart,” you say. “And I’m pretty fucking offended that you’d suggest otherwise.”

“O-Oh, well, I’m… Gosh, Strider. Forgive me. It’s just that usually when you say something like that, it normally means something a little more… indecent.” He blushes. “But I guess I’m the indecent one here, hm? Boy is my face red. I’m ashamed.”

“Yeah, bro, you should be. It’s not like I spend every second of the day thinking about your cock, you know?”

“Yes, yes, I know—”

“And I sure as hell have better things to do than to suggest you fucking me on this piece of shit sofa we’re currently sitting on.”

“Strider—”

“I mean, honestly, Harley. But if that’s where your mind is, I suppose I have no choice other than to cater to your desires. What with you being a perverted and senile geriatric and all.”

“Hey!”

You kiss him before he can say anything else, his lips are warm and wet against yours. The coarse hair beneath his nose scratches at your face, but it’s a feeling that you’re used to and have come to enjoy. 

His fingers dance their was up your back, running over the fresh bandages wrapped around your torso, courtesy of yet another of your strifes. He always tells you he’s too old to be fighting these days and the outcomes is always a new wound decorating your already battered body. 

You break apart the kiss to bury your face against his neck, breathing in cologne and and the lingering smell of his shampoo. You nip at his neck, tasting skin and sweat, and smirking at the way he groans and raises his hips below you. 

He stops his caressing of your back to lower his hands down to your waist where they slip inside the waistband of your sweatpants and tug down on the cotton material. You raise your hips, assisting him in whatever plan he’s silently hatched in that sometimes jumbled mind of his. 

He continues to tug down, bunching the fabric into his strong, calloused, hands until your cock juts out, hard and immediately seeking the warmth of his body. You gasp and close your eyes when he wraps his hand around it, long, controlled, strokes making your toes curl inside your shoes. 

His hand slides behind your neck and you feel his fingers digging into your skin. He jerks your forward, pressing you against his solid chest. 

“Tell me, Strider,” he whispers, his mouth is against your ear, breath fanning against your skin, making your pant and moan quietly with need. 

“How do you want it?” He asks you, his voice alluring and deep. 

_You’d gladly pay money to hear him speak to you in that tone all day long_

“What I want is irrelevant,” you breathe out. “Our options are limited.”

“Why’s that?” He asks. His hand is still pumping your cock, pulling and stroking, his thumb occasionally brushing across the tip, smearing pre-cum and causing you to produce more. 

_A never ending cycle._

“Out of lube.”

“ _You_  were supposed to pick some up,” he says, eyes narrowed down at you like a disapproving parent. 

_You try to pretend as if you don’t feel guilty._

“Forgot.”

There’s a bottle somewhere around the house that neither of you have been able to find and you’ve given up searching for it. 

“Unbelievable.” He squeezes your cock a tad harder than necessary and your grunt in response. “And  _I’m_  the old one,” he mutters. “Lean back.”

You do as you’re told because you’ve honestly dropped the ball this time. You don’t bother to help him as he shuffles beneath you, pulling and yanking at his own pants until they slip down low enough for him to pull his cock free. 

You start to slide off his lap, but he grips your hip and holds you in place. “You’ll enjoy giving it just as much as I’ll enjoy receiving it. We’ll suffer together.” He smiles teasingly at you and your heart flutters. 

_You blame it on indigestion from those three-for-a-dollar gas station burritos._

He rubs his cock against yours and then goes back to stroking you, only he’s stroking his own cock, too. You rock your hips, your cock gliding up and down against his, still dripping, slicking the way for both of you. 

You’re panting now, breathing heavily through parted lips. You close your eyes for a second, but he uses his free hand to grip your chin and demands that you keep them open, that you watch him and what he’s doing to you. 

_You have the nerve to blush._

“Fuck,” you gasp, whimper, and buck your hips, grinding your cock down harder against his. 

“Are you close?” He whispers and you nod your head because you don’t think you’re capable of speaking. 

“I should be a devil and punish you,” he says. “Make you hold it in until I’m ready for it.” He pulls you against him and gently kisses your lips, one quick ghost of a peck before pulling back. “What do you think about that, Strider?”

You open your mouth, but you’re incapable of speech. When you try, tiny gasps slip from your lips and you scramble to grip his wrist, but his hold it tighter, stronger than yours for the moment. 

“But that would be cruel, wouldn’t it?” He says. “Almost as cruel as forgetting to buy the damn lube.”

You cum with a soft curse, your hips stiffening and jerking, cum spilling down Harley’s cock and rolling onto his stomach. He continues to pump his fist, groaning and using your cum as his own personal lube, making you whimper and wince from sensitivity.  

You lean forward, shuddering and clinging to him as you kiss each healed scar your lips can reach. You whisper against his skin that you love him and you know he hears it because he cums seconds later. You’ll deny ever saying it if he asks about it, but he’ll never ask. 

_He already knows._

“Golly, that surely got my heart pumping,” he pants out and you roll your eyes at him. 

You’re too comfortable to move, so you dig your hands in the couch cushions instead, feeling crumbs and lose change and something cool and plastic bumping against the tip of your index finger. You pull it out and end up staring down at a small bottle of lube. 

_So that’s where it was._

“Aha! There it is,” Harley says and chuckles softly. “Well, what do you say, Strider? Twenty minutes?”

“Make it an hour.

_You’re completely fucking exhausted._

“Nonsense. You have to learn to put some pep in your step, old chum. Luckily, you have me around to show you the way of aging gracefully.”

_You can’t help but to smile._

You’ve been doing a lot of that these days. 


End file.
